


A Very Capeside Christmas

by cheekyhobbit



Category: Dawson's Creek
Genre: But I had fun writing it, Capeside (set in modern day), Capeside MA, Dawson's Creek Season 7, F/M, Just my idea of what their lives might be like now, M/M, Obviously not canon, Pacey and Joey as parents, not very well edited gonna warn you now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28343919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekyhobbit/pseuds/cheekyhobbit
Summary: Dawson's Creek revival set in 2020 (sans pandemic, nobody wants that). Spoilers for all of DC I guess.Gretchen returns to Capeside for Christmas, and finds that while some things have changed, some things never will.
Relationships: Joey Potter/Pacey Witter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29





	1. You can't go home again

_You can’t go home again._

The car pulled up in front of the house. The living room lights were on inside, but the porch was dark, unlit, unwelcoming. A light snow was falling, and the wipers moved slowly back and forth across the windshield, making the house appear and disappear in front of her. Through a gap in the curtains, Gretchen could see a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, positioned in the same place it had always stood throughout her childhood. It was probably the same fake tree, wearing the same faded tinsel. The same decorations made with fumbling childhood fingers out of macaroni and spray paint. Was the same cardboard star covered in glitter perched crookedly on top?

If she went inside, she’d find out.

Right now, that felt like a pretty big _if_.

“This the right place?” the driver asked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Yes,” she replied.

It felt like a lie. Nothing about being back in Capeside felt right.

Gretchen turned in her seat to look at the kids in the back seat. Max was asleep, chin tucked against his shoulder, but Kendra was watching her with knowing hazel eyes. The music from her earbuds was vaguely audible now that the radio was off, ending the constant deluge of festive Christmas music that had been playing all the way from the airport.

“We’re here,” Gretchen told her. “Wake your brother.”

Kendra reached across and thumped Max in the ribs. He woke with a yelp.

“Kendra!”

“You said to wake him up.”

“I meant gently.”

Kendra shrugged, wrapping her scarf around her neck. “You didn’t _say_ gently.”

Gretchen inhaled through her nostrils, then pasted a smile onto her face and turned back to the Uber driver. “What do I owe you?”

While she sorted out the bill, the kids bickered in the back seat. “I don’t see why we had to come here.”

“Because Mom didn’t want to stay in Portland.”

“Why not?”

Kendra rolled her eyes toward the roof of the car, then jammed her wool hat down over her thick curls. “God, you’re so stupid, Max. You really think she wanted to spend Christmas with Dad, after he--”

Gretchen cut her off. “Are you two ready?”

She’d lived in Capeside for long enough to know how quickly word got around in a small town, and she didn’t need anyone talking about the reasons for Gretchen Witter’s return, least of all some random Uber driver who didn’t know her from Adam. _We’re here to spend Christmas with family._ That’s what she’d told the guy a little over an hour ago, as they’d driven along the snow-plowed highway towards Cape Cod. _It’s been a while since I’ve seen them all._ Of course it had. She’d moved to the other side of the country to get away from her family. And now she was back, with her proverbial tail between her legs and her kids in tow, feeling the least festive she had in years.

The driver helped them to collect their luggage from the trunk, and wished them a merry Christmas before he reversed out and slowly drove away. The snow was still falling in a half-hearted sort of way, just enough to cover the lawn in a layer of grey slush. Snow on the Cape was nothing like the several feet of snow they’d just left behind in Portland. The glistening treetops, frozen lakes, and snow-coated mountains in the distance. She missed it already.

Max lugged his suitcase towards the front door, sniffing the air. “I think I can smell the ocean.”

Kendra pouted. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Can I, Mom?”

“You bet, Max.”

It was there in the back of her nostrils too, the smell of the salt, the distant rumbling of the waves, but far more pervasive was the damp, earthy smell of the creek that wound its way through the small town. It all brought the memories pouring back, flooding her with a wave of nostalgia matched only by the existential dread in the pit of her stomach. Gretchen hauled her luggage up the shallow porch steps of the house she’d grown up in. It seemed smaller, and was a lot quieter now than it had been back then, when there had been five kids and two parents crammed inside, breathing down each other’s necks. It had never been a warm or comforting space, but it had been loud and crowded and chaotic. Now, it was almost empty. Her mother was the only one left.

Gretchen reached for the door handle and turned it, but the front door was locked. She raised a hand and resignedly knocked, staring as she did at a shiny plastic wreath that looked out of place there, as if someone had forced some Christmas cheer onto a house that didn’t want to know about it. Gretchen had time to wish once more that she hadn’t come back before the door swung open and her mother stared out at her.

She was as tall and narrow as ever, her dirty blonde hair gone mostly to grey. Her sweater was faded, but her jeans looked fairly new, though cut in a dated style that only K-Mart would still stock. There were deeper lines around her eyes, and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes wafted off her. The tiny hope that Gretchen had kindled after her father passed away, that Mom would be happier without him, flickered and died.

“You didn't have to knock.”

After all these years, that was the first thing Gretchen’s mother said to her.

 _Nice to see you too, Mom._ “The door was locked.”

Gretchen gripped the handles of her bags more firmly as her mother stayed in the doorway, blocking the threshold. As though waiting for her own daughter to ask permission to come inside. Gretchen held her ground, the Witter stubbornness seeping through. She wasn’t going to ask permission. Her mother had to bend, at least that much.

“You could've rung the doorbell.”

“It doesn’t work.” And hadn't for years, not since Pacey had tried to reprogram it to a different pitch, because it used to make Scraps go ballistic. Whatever he’d done had fried the circuitry, and after giving his youngest son a hiding for his trouble, Pop had said he’d fix it, but had never got around to it. No surprises there.

“It does now.”

As if to test the theory, Kendra reached up and pressed the button with her forefinger. The bell chimed loudly inside the house, playing a festive jingle.

“That’s great, Mom.” Gretchen shuffled forward, but her mother still didn’t move aside to let them in.

“Your brother fixed it.”

“Yeah? I guess Dougie has his uses after all.” She shivered as a cold wind blasted across them. “Can we come inside? It’s freezing out here.”

Her mother’s mouth tightened, but she stepped aside, letting Gretchen and her children cross the threshold into the Witter family home.

“ _Doug_ wouldn’t deign to set foot inside this house these days,” she sniffed, pronouncing her eldest son’s name as if it were a particularly unpleasant curse word. “I swear, if I didn’t have Pacey to look after me, I’d be living on the street, because nobody else gives a damn what happens to this lonely old woman.”

Gretchen frowned. Growing up, both of her parents had always shown a clear preference for their eldest son. Their love had seemed to diminish with each child born, all the way down to Pacey, who’d always been the black sheep, mocked and teased relentlessly by them all. It was a wonder he’d made it through his childhood with even a shred of his self-esteem intact. Now it seemed that he was the golden boy, and Doug was the outcast. When had that happened?

As she stepped into the living room, Gretchen was assaulted again by memories. The wood panelling, the ugly forest patterned curtains, the formica counter tops in the kitchen. The carpet was new, and much softer underfoot, but nothing else was different. Except that the whole place felt so much smaller.

A small heater sat in the corner, glowing orange and emitting a circle of heat, but the fireplace lay empty and cold.

“Why haven’t you lit the fire?”

“That was your father’s responsibility.”

 _And he died five years ago,_ Gretchen thought irritably. _Haven’t you learned to do anything for yourself since then?_ Her eyes moved automatically to the corner of the room, where her father’s La-Z-Boy had always sat. It was still there, but he wasn’t. John Witter no longer lurked in his favourite chair, staring at the TV with his feet up, a can of beer in one hand and several empties littering the floor until her mother came past and swept them up into the trash, trying as always to ignore the problem, sweep it under the rug, nothing to see here. Just one more happy family in Capeside.

Gretchen wondered if anyone had ever been fooled.

“Have you eaten?” her mother asked reluctantly, her eyes skimming over the children. “I could make chipped beef on toast.”

“We had McDonalds at the airport.” Her mom’s cooking was legendarily bad, and Gretchen didn’t want to expose her children to any more of it than could be avoided.

“McDonald’s?” she sniffed, looking directly at Kendra. “That’s not good for children. Makes them fat.”

Gretchen gritted her teeth. “Nobody here is fat.”

Her mother looked Kendra up and down, and raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.” She walked back to her armchair and sat down in it. “I assume it hasn’t been so long that you’ve forgotten where your room is. I’ve made up the beds in Pacey’s room for the children. You can show them where to go.” A large tumbler of whisky sat on the side table next to the chair, and she picked up the remote control and pointed it at the TV, switching the sound back on.

“I’m not sharing a room with him.”

Gretchen turned to see her daughter’s arms folded across her chest. “It’s only for a couple of nights, Ken.”

“So?”

“I don't want to share either. She snores,” Max whined.

“I do not!”

“Do so!”

“Enough!” Gretchen snapped. She could see her mother’s eyes on her, a smug _I knew you’d be a terrible parent_ look on her face.

“Is there a problem?”

“They can’t share a room, Mom.”

“Why not?”

“Kendra’s fourteen now.”

“So?”

Gretchen did not want to get into an argument. “It’s okay. I’ll make up a cot in the basement or something.” She caught Kendra’s eye as her daughter’s mouth opened to object, and shook her head sharply. For once, Kendra took the hint, and stayed silent.

“There’s nowhere to sleep down there,” her mother said, eyes fixed on the television. “It’s full.”

“The basement? It’s huge. How can it be full?” Gretchen asked.

“Your father’s belongings are all down there. I haven’t sorted them out yet.”

Gretchen opened the basement door and flipped on the light, then stared down the stairs into the room below the house. Her mom was right - it _was_ full. Boxes of all shapes and sizes were stacked haphazardly all through the large space. There was furniture down there that Gretchen didn't recognise, an old exercise bike that had surely never belonged to anyone in this family - maybe Doug, but then why was it here? - and the only beds visible were standing on their sides, with no floor space available to set them down and make them up. She couldn't ask Kendra to sleep down there, alone. 

_This is so weird._ Gretchen gave up and shut the door again. “Well, there’s four bedrooms upstairs. Surely we can have one each.”

“They’re full, too.”

Before Gretchen could query what exactly had filled every bedroom on the second floor, the jangling tune of _Jingle Bells_ rang through the house as someone pressed the doorbell. Her mother made no move to get up.

“I’ll get it.”

Kendra’s narrowed eyes followed her mother across the room. Max looked as if he was about to burst into tears, but Gretchen didn’t have time to comfort him. As she reached for the door handle, she willed him to stay strong. Her mother had never had any time for tears, especially not from boys. Pop had grown up telling his sons that real men didn’t cry, and her mother had never found it in herself to disagree with her husband on anything.

When she pulled the door open, the first thing Gretchen saw was an enormous red bow, right at her eye level. It was attached to a large basket covered in cellophane, which was sitting on top of an even larger cardboard box, both of which were being held by someone whose face was obscured by the aforementioned bow.

“Special delivery!” came the voice behind the hamper, and Gretchen reached out and lifted the gift basket from the top of the box to reveal her sister-in-law’s face.

Joey Potter hadn’t changed much over the years. She was older, sure, but still as effortlessly beautiful as she always had been. Her eyes widened when she saw Gretchen, and she broke into a wide smile.

“Gretchen! You’re here!” Her eyes darted over Gretchen’s shoulder to see the kids standing in the middle of the living room, looking lost. “Hi Kendra, Max! Look at you two!”

Gretchen stepped back, nudging the door open wider with her foot as Joey came in. She set the box in her arms down on the dining table, and Gretchen caught a glimpse of the Ice House logo printed on the lid before Joey reached for the gift basket she was holding.

“I can take that. Thank you! Merry Christmas, Deirdre,” she greeted Gretchen’s mother, who’d stood up from her chair as Joey entered the house.

Gretchen braced herself for the acerbic barbs that her mother had always fired at Joey, but to her surprise, realised that the older woman was smiling. She took the hamper from Joey’s arms, peering through the clear cellophane at the goodies inside.

“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” she scolded half-heartedly.

“I know that, but you know Pacey,” Joey said cheerfully. “Trying to keep a lid on his generosity is a year-round struggle, but come Christmastime, even I’m forced to admit defeat.”

“He’ll bankrupt you all,” Deirdre scolded, but she seemed pleased by the hamper. She took it back to her armchair and started to unwrap it as Joey greeted the kids.

“How are you both? I haven’t seen you in years. How was your trip?”

Kendra shrugged, looking at her aunt with spellbound reverence. From a young age, Gretchen’s daughter had been obsessed with beauty. At first, Gretchen had dismissed it as the ‘princess phase’ that every small girl seemed to go through - although it was one that Gretchen herself had bypassed, despite her mother’s insistence on buying her Barbie dolls for every birthday and Christmas until she was Kendra’s age, ignoring that the toys had sat in the corner of her room, gathering dust. It hit harder that Kendra was something of an ugly duckling herself. Gretchen had no doubt that she’d grow into a swan - and even if she didn’t, she thought she was beautiful just as she was, but that was a mother’s rose-tinted view. She knew that Kendra looked in the mirror and didn’t like what she saw. The baby fat that hadn’t melted away, the pimples that hadn’t cleared up (and if genetics were anything to go by, wouldn’t for some years yet - the Witters had all been afflicted with bad skin in their teens), the uneven teeth that were being slowly and painfully straightened with braces. No matter how many assurances Gretchen gave her daughter that she’d come out the other side as the swan she dreamed of being, she knew Kendra didn’t believe her.

Max spoke first, which was unusual for him. “It was okay.”

“Boring, I bet.” Joey smiled sympathetically. “If you’re hungry, there’s plenty of food in that box on the table.”

“We grabbed burgers at the airport,” Gretchen told her, aware of her mother’s eyes on them. “I think they’re just tired and ready for bed.”

“I’m not,” Kendra objected. “It’s only seven o’clock.”

“It’s ten o’clock in Portland,” Gretchen reminded her.

“And I don’t have anywhere to sleep.”

Joey frowned. “Aren’t you all staying here?”

“Mom wants the kids to share a room, and Kendra’s digging in her heels,” Gretchen explained. “I was going to put her in the basement, but…”

“Basement’s full,” Joey said.

“Exactly.” Gretchen moved closer, lowering her voice. The volume of the TV drowned out their conversation pretty well, but she wanted to be sure. “What’s up with that?”

Joey shrugged. “Call it a compromise,” she said. “I’ll fill you in later. In the meantime, if Kendra needs a bed, she can always come and stay with us.”

Gretchen looked at her daughter, whose face had lit up at the suggestion. “If that’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course not. I know the kids would love to see her.” She smiled down at Max, who was listening in, wide-eyed. “That includes you, buddy. Come over for breakfast tomorrow,” she told Gretchen. “We’ll all get together and make a batch of pancakes.”

“Can we have waffles?” Max asked. “I like waffles better than pancakes.”

“You’re just saying that because you’ve never tried your Uncle Pacey’s pancakes,” Joey told him. “They’ll change your life.”

Gretchen grinned. “It still shocks me that someone who never cooked anything more than a pop-tart for breakfast as a teenager is now some kind of culinary wizard.”

Joey’s smile widened. “He always was a well of untapped potential.”

“Good thing he had you to bring it out of him.”

Joey picked up the box and carried it into the kitchen. “I was just there,” she said, setting the box on the counter and flipping the lid open. “He did it himself.”

 _By himself, maybe,_ Gretchen mused as Joey started taking foil wrapped containers out of the box and stacking them on the counter. _Not for himself. He did it for you._

“What is all this?” She picked up one of the containers as Joey pulled the fridge open and started rearranging things to make room.

“Christmas catering. The Ice House’s latest venture.”

Gretchen lifted a corner of the foil and looked at the scalloped potatoes. The food was still lukewarm, and the smell made her stomach rumble. The burger she’d eaten at the airport was nothing compared to Pacey’s cooking.

“You do home catering now?”

“Yeah. We started last winter, when the ice storm hit and half the town had no power for several days. We were making and delivering food packages, and then even after the power was fixed, people kept asking for them.”

“And Pacey can’t say no to anyone.”

Joey shook her head, a close-lipped smile on her face. “You know him.” She finished putting the food into the fridge and shut the door. “I should go. I’ve got more deliveries to make on my way home.”

“And I need to get Max to take a shower and get to bed,” Gretchen told her son as he stifled a yawn. She glanced at her daughter, and lowered her voice. “Is it really okay for Kendra to stay with you? I know your house isn’t that big…”

“It’s not that small anymore, either. Pacey keeps building more extensions onto it. Pretty soon, it’ll sleep more people than the B&B.” Joey rolled her eyes, but her smile widened every time she mentioned her husband's name. “We’d be happy to help, and she’ll keep Effie out of my hair for a while.”

She said goodbye to Deirdre, who waved vaguely as she opened a box of liqueur chocolates, then helped Kendra carry her bags to the front door.

“The car’s not locked. Put your bags in the trunk, there’s still catering boxes all over the back seat.” Joey turned back to Gretchen. “It’s really good to see you, Gretch. Pacey’ll be so happy that you’re here.”

“I can’t wait to see him, too.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then Joey stepped forward and pulled Gretchen into a hug. In all the years she’d known Joey, they had rarely hugged, and then only on sad occasions. Like Pop's funeral, the last time she'd been home. The last time she'd seen Joey, and Pacey, and the twins. The warmth of her sister-in-law's embrace took Gretchen by surprise, but she hugged her back, and when Joey released her, she felt a little better about being home.

“See you in the morning for pancakes,” Joey reminded her, then ruffled her son’s hair. “Sleep tight, Max.”

Gretchen stood in the doorway with one arm around Max’s narrow shoulders, watching her daughter shove her suitcase into Joey’s station wagon. She was grateful for the woman’s friendship, grateful that her brother had married someone he was so compatible with, someone he loved and who loved him so well in return. But it still stung to see them here, still in Capeside, taking care of Mom and living a mundane life, when all they’d ever wanted as lovesick teenagers was to get the hell out of this small town - and stay gone.

“What are you doing?” her mother sniped. “You’re letting all the heat out.”

Gretchen sighed, and closed the door.

Joey’s headlights disappeared down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this story pretty much free-form - I had this image in my mind of Gretchen arriving home in Capeside for Christmas, sitting in the car and staring at her childhood home through the drifting snow, trying to summon up the nerve to go inside. I wrote that opening paragraph, and everything else just evolved from there. This chapter has had minimal edits, so I apologise for any typos, and I don't live in the US (though I have worked in NH for almost a year, all told) so if the spelling/vernacular is incorrect, I apologise for that too. If you notice any glaring errors, please let me know. 
> 
> This story came about in my head when I started to think about a Dawson's Creek revival, set sixteen years after the events of the series finale. If there was to be a new show, this is what I'd want it to be. And yes, there will be more chapters, and yes, you will find out why Pacey and Joey are still living in Capeside. It's not as tragic as it seems, I promise. But then, I'm a small town girl myself.


	2. Home is where the heart is

_Home is where the heart is._

Their house was warm. That was the first impression Kendra got when her aunt Joey opened the door off the screen porch and let them into the house proper - a heat wave of warmth that flooded her whole body as she stepped into it. The polished wood floors, white painted walls, large windows and comfortable furnishings. A large dining table, big enough to seat a dozen people. A painting of a sailboat hung over the brick fireplace with a wooden plaque reading _TRUE LOVE_ right above it. Her mother had been right - it wasn’t a big house. But it was a lot more welcoming than her grandmother’s had been, and Kendra was glad she’d made the choice not to stay there. 

A dark-haired teenage girl was sitting on the floor in front of a low coffee table, her attention focused on a model sailboat that she was assembling. She looked up in alarm as they came into the room.

“Don’t look!” she cried, then relaxed. “Oh, it’s only you.”

“I just live for these warm welcomes of yours,” Joey told her daughter. “Really fills my heart.”

“I aim to please,” Effie replied, then directed her attention to Kendra. “Hey, I remember you. Kendra, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Kendra’s staying with us for a few nights,” Joey said as she unpacked the last of the cardboard catering boxes into their own large fridge. “Can you find somewhere for her to sleep?”

Effie frowned. “I thought she was staying at Grandma’s.”

“There’s been a change of plans,” Joey replied from the kitchen.

“Is that your diplomatic way of saying Grandma already said or did something to insult her?”

Joey looked over the top of the open fridge door, her eyebrows lowering. “It’s my way of saying find somewhere for Kendra to sleep and stop asking questions.” 

“All right, all right.” Effie unfolded her long legs and stood up. She was wearing grey leggings, thick socks with mermaids on them, and a yellow sweatshirt with _There is no Planet B_ printed on it. “I’ll make some space for her.”

“Sorry,” Kendra muttered as she followed her cousin down the hall. “I didn’t mean to put you out like this.”

Effie shrugged. “It’s okay, I get it. I hate staying at Grandma’s too. Did she try to make you sleep in the basement?”

“Um, no. She wanted me to share a room with my brother.” Kendra’s voice trailed off as Effie looked back over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

“How old’s Max now?”

“Nine.”

“Huh. Time flies.” Effie reached a half-open bedroom door, and nudged it the rest of the way open with her foot. “It’s kind of a mess. Sorry. I didn’t know you were coming. Well, I knew you were coming, but not that you were staying.”

“That’s okay. I didn’t know either.” 

Effie started scooping up armloads of clothes off the floor and throwing them into her closet as Kendra entered her cousin’s room, where a chaotic jumble of clothes and belongings filling the small space. A large window almost filled one wall, with a well-stocked bookshelf below it. On one side of the window, a built-in closet and dresser, on the other side, a generous wooden desk littered with discarded textbooks, pieces of half-finished boat models, a nautical compass that had been pulled entirely apart, several variations of cacti in what looked like home-made pots, and a laptop with Greenpeace stickers plastered all over it. The shelf above Effie’s desk was filled with model boats, trophies and medals from sailing competitions, but none of this was what caught Kendra’s attention as she entered the room.

“Wow.” 

Covering the entire wall behind her cousin’s bed was a hand-painted mural of a sailboat cresting the waves at sunset. The blue sky at the top of the painting faded down into a soft teal and then gold as the sun disappeared below the horizon, and the ocean itself seemed to sparkle as the small boat rode the waves. Its sails were billowing, and the figure of a solitary girl stood at the helm with her back to them, staring out into the distance. 

Kendra couldn’t tear her eyes away. “Did you paint that?”

Effie kicked the closet door shut behind her. “Me? No. I did not inherit any of my family’s artistic talents. Mom did it for my thirteenth birthday.” Effie gave up tidying and flopped down onto her bed. “That’ll be me, someday. Sailing around the world all by myself.”

Kendra dragged her suitcase into the centre of the room. “Why would you want to do that?”

Effie lifted her dark eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t I? Just me and my boat on the open sea, what could possibly be better?”

“What if there’s a storm, and your boat capsizes?”

“Then I’d die happy.” She saw Kendra’s concerned expression. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. And if Mom gets her way,” she added with a roll of her eyes, “I’ll never be allowed to go at all.” 

Kendra could empathise with her aunt Joey’s stance on that. It seemed wildly dangerous, but also just the kind of thing that her cousin would want to do. She remembered Effie from the last time she was in Capeside. She’d been the ultimate tomboy, with her short hair and skinned knees and the fiercest hazel eyes Kendra had ever seen. She’d been impressed by and terrified of her cousin in equal measure, and she found her even more intimidating now. Effie seemed so comfortable in her own skin in a way that Kendra desperately envied. Like her mother, she was all long limbs and angles, with cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself on them, and a look in her eyes that defied anyone to pick a fight with her. 

Unsure of what to say, Kendra occupied herself by looking around her cousin’s room again, taking everything in. 

“So you really love boats, huh?”

The moment the words had left her lips, Kendra wished she could take them back, but by then it was too late. Effie grinned as she sat up, using her feet to push a rollaway cot out from under her bed. 

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

Blushing, the younger girl shrugged. She sat down on the cot, and the springs squeaked loudly in protest. 

“Hope you’re not a light sleeper, or you’ll wake yourself up every time you move.”

“I’ll be okay.” 

“So, Kendra. What’s your deal?”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean, you’re my cousin, but I hardly know you. Fill me in.”

Kendra shifted uneasily, making the springs creak again. “What do you want to know?” she asked cagily. 

“Anything.” Effie rested her elbows on her knees and stared at her cousin intently. Kendra had never felt more like a deer caught in headlights, and was utterly unable to think of anything to say. “As you so astutely pointed out, I like boats,” Effie continued. “What do _you_ like?”

“Um, I don’t know. I’m kinda into fashion, right now.” As soon as she’d said it, Kendra knew it was the wrong thing to pique her cousin’s interest.

“Oh.” Effie’s disappointment was clear. “You’ll probably like my cousin Amy, then. She organised a fashion show at our high school last year as some kind of fundraiser. Tried to make me walk in it, but I told her over my dead body was I going to parade around in front of people in lipstick and heels.” She snorted in disgust at the thought.

“We have another cousin in Capeside?” Kendra asked. “I didn’t know that-- Oh, right.” She blushed, figuring it out. “You mean on your mom’s side.”

“Not exactly. Amy’s not _really_ my cousin, but she might as well be. Besides, it’s easier to say _cousin_ than _she’s the daughter of my mom’s best friend’s dead best friend._ ”

Kendra blinked, trying to sort through that in her head. “Oh.”

“I don’t think you’ve met her. She was on vacation in Italy with her grandmother when Poppa died, and she wouldn’t let Amy come back for the funeral.” Effie’s face clouded over at the memory. 

“Oh. Uh, that sucks.”

“Yeah.” Effie sighed and leaned back against the mural on her wall, her head resting against the painted waves. “What _do_ you remember from the last time you were here?”

“I remember you,” Kendra said honestly. “And your brother, and your parents. I remember that we stayed at that little B&B by the creek, and your uncle took us out in the rowboat, and we went swimming.” 

Kendra smiled as she recalled those days. Her grandfather had died in mid-July, and she’d had to be pulled out of summer camp to come to Capeside and attend the funeral. She’d hated the camp programme anyway, and had been glad to leave. Despite the melancholy air of the funeral and wake, the few days she’d spent in sun-dappled Capeside were mostly good memories. Max had been too young to be much of a pain in her ass, and her parents had been getting along back then. 

“It feels like such a long time ago.” Effie echoed her thoughts aloud. “We should do it again sometime, if you come back in the summer. The B&B’s not on the creek any more, and Quinn’s got the rowboat now, but I’m sure he’d let us use it if we asked.”

Kendra frowned. “What happened to the B&B?”

“Climate change,” Effie said bluntly. “Rising sea levels that caused unprecedented flooding three years in a row. Not sure how a storm can be ‘unprecedented’ when it happens that many times in quick succession, but some people like to live with their heads in the sand.” Effie straightened up, warming to her anger. “The first time it flooded, the insurance paid them out in full. The second time, they got less, but scraped through ‘til the summer season. But when it happened again…” She shook her head. “The house is totalled. It’s still there, because they tried to fight the insurance company in court for refusing to pay out, but then Bodie had his accident, and Bessie just gave up.”

“Oh. That’s awful.”

“Yeah, well. That’s life. At least they have the boarding house now, although it’s not the same, not owning it. And being in town instead of on the creek...” She shook her head. “I don’t think I could ever live somewhere that’s not a short walk to a body of water.”

Kendra thought of their apartment in Portland, with her bedroom window’s unimpressive view of the building next door, and hoped Effie would never cross the country to visit her. She’d be doomed to disappointment.

Joey appeared in the doorway, her arms laden with blankets. “Kendra, sweetheart, these are for you. Let Effie know if you need any more.”

“This is fine. Thanks.”

Effie leaned her head back against the painted wall. “I’m starved. Where’s Eli?”

“Helping your dad at the restaurant. He won’t be home until your dad is. Oh, that reminds me. Lucia called in sick this afternoon, so I need you to help me in the store tomorrow.” 

“What? Mom, no! I’ve got plans tomorrow.”

Joey raised her eyebrows. “Doing what, exactly?”

Effie’s eyes darted around the room and landed on her cousin. “Showing Kendra around town.”

“Nice try,” Joey replied. “It’s two days until Christmas, Effie. I can’t be short staffed.”

“Get Eli to help you and I’ll work at the Ice House, instead.”

“And risk the place burning down again? No thank you.” Joey fixed her daughter with a stare that wouldn’t brook any disagreement. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you deal with customers. You can stock the shelves, keep the place tidy.” Her eyes brightened with amusement. “Read a few books to the children at storytime.”

Effie glared at her mother. “No way am I doing that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” Joey assured her. “Luckily for you, Amy’s already signed up for that particular role.” 

“I can help,” Kendra offered shyly. “I don’t think Mom’s got plans tomorrow.”

“And you don’t want to be stuck at Grandma’s house,” Effie said. “Fair call. What if we both help you?” she asked her mother. “We’ll do twice the work in half the time and have the afternoon to ourselves.”

Joey raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see. Come with me in the morning, and if you work hard, you might be able to catch a movie or something in the afternoon.”

“Or go sailing,” Effie said hopefully.

“In this weather? No.”

“But…”

“I said no, Eff.” Joey turned in the doorway. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. Come and help yourselves.”

Effie groaned as her mother left the room. “Does _your_ mom make you work at her stupid bookstore every chance she gets?”

“Uh, no. But only because she doesn’t have a bookstore,” Kendra replied. “I didn’t know your mom did, either.”

“Yeah, she opened it a few years ago, after Poppa died. Used Dad’s share of his inheritance to start it up.”

“How’d your dad feel about that?”

“Anything that makes Mom happy, makes him happy,” Effie replied. “I think she really did for Grandma though.”

“Really?” Kendra thought of her sour-faced grandmother, sitting in front of her TV, sipping whiskey and ignoring everyone. “She doesn’t strike me as someone who’s into books.”

“Oh, she’s not. But she had this idea in her head that Mom was going to move us all away from Capeside, and kept going on about how she’d spend the inheritance on relocating and abandoning her. I think Mom bought the business just to shut her up.” 

“How does that work?”

“Putting down roots, I guess.” 

“Right.” Kendra unfolded one of the sheets and shook it out over the cot mattress. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Is she always like that?”

“Grandma?” Her cousin let out a bitter laugh. “You obviously don’t remember her very well, if you’re even asking me that question.”

“Well, I remember her being grumpy, but everyone said that she was sad because her husband died.” 

“She probably was. But to answer your question, yes. She’s always like that. At least to anyone who has a vagina.”

Kendra dropped the sheet she was shaking out over the cot. “What?”

Effie shrugged. “It’s true. She’s the ultimate misogynist."

"What's that?"

"Someone who thinks men are superior to women." 

"But...that doesn't make sense. Grandma's a woman, herself. So how can a woman be a miso--" 

"I don't know, but she's living proof that it's possible. One year, on our birthday, she bought Eli a new bike, then gave me two plastic coat hangers and a ballpoint pen.”

Kendra’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Sadly, I am not.”

"Did she say why?"

"Said he needed it more than I did, because clearly I'm my parents' favourite. Which is bullshit, by the way. If anyone's the favourite around here, it's Eli."

Kendra blinked. “So...what’d you do?”

“Stole Eli’s bike.” Effie sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “He hadn’t even asked for it. He wanted piano lessons, but Grandma didn’t approve. Thought music lessons were ‘too girly’ and would make him soft.” She snorted. “I tried telling her it’s way too late for that, but she wouldn’t listen.” 

“Damn. I hope Max will be okay over there,” Kendra said, biting her lip. “He can be pretty sensitive.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s got aunt Gretchen looking out for him, right?”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t really standing up to her when we arrived.”

“Give her time. Grandma will drive anyone to screaming pretty effortlessly.”

“Your mom seems to get along with her.”

“My mom's in retail. She can fake getting along with anyone.” Effie crossed her legs underneath her. “Don’t take it personally, okay? We drive Grandma wild, all of us. Nobody conforms to her expectations. She had a hard enough time accepting that Dad wanted to cook for a living, having never allowed him to set foot in the kitchen his whole childhood, that when uncle Doug came out, it was touch and go for a while whether or not she and Poppa would even speak to him again.”

“But they came around eventually.”

“Only because Dad said he wouldn’t let her have anything to do with us if she didn’t accept Doug for who he is. She still makes off-colour jokes at his expense, but to her credit, she was genuinely sad when him and Jack broke up.”

"I didn't know that they broke up."

"Yeah. It was a while ago, a couple of years maybe? I forget. Jack has a new boyfriend now. His name's Tom. He's a mechanic."

Headlights flashed across the yard outside the window, and Effie shot to her feet and pulled the curtains apart. 

“What are you looking at?”

“Trying to see if Rio’s home.” 

The sensor light next door had come on as the car pulled up. Kendra joined her cousin at the window to see a young woman with long dark hair carry grocery bags to her front door, then fumble in her pocket for her keys. 

“Damn. It’s just Camila.” 

Effie turned away from the window, letting the curtains fall back into place.

“I’m starved. Let’s go find something to eat.”


	3. I plan to be wherever you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time some Pacey/Joey content.

_I plan to be wherever you are._

It was past midnight when the front door finally opened to admit the male members of her family. Joey was still awake, perched on a stool in the small nook off their bedroom. The window in front of her was dark now, but it looked out over the creek, which was situated a good, sensible distance from the house, up the hill and well outside of the flood zone. No risk of losing this place to the rising tides. 

She listened to Pacey and Elijah’s futile attempts to be quiet as they entered the house, not assisted by Yachtie, who greeted them in the living room with excited wuffs, his tail thumping against the carpet. Pacey’s voice was a low murmur, imploring the dog to be quiet and let the rest of the house sleep. She could’ve told him not to bother. The girls had been in bed for a couple hours, but she could still hear their hushed conversation from behind Effie’s bedroom door. 

Joey added a little more dark blue to her brush, and dabbed it on the canvas. It was almost finished. Behind her, the door creaked slightly as it opened. 

“Hey, there’s my girl.”

The sound of his voice still made her smile, even after all these years. She turned to greet her husband as he came into the room. “Hi, sweetheart. How was your night?”

“Busy. We must’ve had the entire population of Capeside stop by the Ice House tonight. We were run off our feet.”

“Hmm. Sounds like you need me to sweep you off yours.”

Pacey grinned as he reached her. “Yes please.” 

Before she had time to put her brush and palette down, he was kissing her. His lips were soft, teasing her mouth open, his tongue seeking contact with hers. She met his passion with her own, kissing him back fervently, her eyelids fluttering as his coarse beard scraped against her cheek. He let out a deep sigh, and goosebumps flared up on her skin as his hands slid around her waist, lighting her on fire. Still, after all these years. 

“Pacey,” she murmured against his mouth. 

“Hmm?”

With a force of will, Joey drew back, breaking the kiss. “I thought I said I was going to sweep _you_ off your feet.”

“Too late.” He kissed her again, softly, his lips tender against hers. “Just seeing you did that already.”

She grinned. “You big sap.”

“Mm. You love me.”

“Lucky for you, that’s true.” 

He kissed her again, his tongue sliding into her mouth like it belonged there, and she lifted one leg from the stool she was perched on and wrapped it around his, pressing her heel into the back of his knee and pulling him closer. Pacey stumbled slightly and his hands went to her shoulders to keep his balance. His eyes sparkled in amusement as his large hands held her steady, his thumbs caressing the sharp edges of her collarbone, then sliding up to the side of her neck and across her jaw, until he was cupping her face in his hands and tilting her mouth towards his. A brief flash of sense memory hit Joey like a lightning bolt - a cold morning on the side of the road, his hands on her face, his mouth covering hers. _I don’t want to talk any more._ The shock she’d felt when he’d kissed her so suddenly, the lust, the joy, the relief. And the guilt. She pushed that part of the memory away. Guilt had no place in their relationship. Not any more. 

When they finally broke apart, Joey’s insides were on fire. Down the hall, she could hear footsteps, and Eli’s bedroom door swinging closed. She ran her heel up Pacey’s thigh and smiled. “Shame we’ve got a house full of kids tonight.”

He grinned shamelessly. “Good thing our kids are heavy sleepers.”

Joey laughed. “Nice try, but no. Firstly, they’re not asleep yet. Also, Kendra’s here.” 

Pacey’s blue eyes lit up. “Kendra -- Gretchen’s kid?”

Joey nodded, moving to set her paintbrush and palette down. Pacey dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back, giving her room. “They arrived tonight. Gretchen and Max are staying with your mom, but she hadn’t made up enough rooms, and I could tell Kendra didn’t want to stay there, so I brought her home with me.”

“Good.” His eyes went to the canvas in front of her. “Hey, I remember that.” 

“Well, you were there too.” 

“True enough.” He moved to stand behind her, slid his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I’ll go see Gretch in the morning before we open.” 

“No need, they’ll be here at eight. I invited them for breakfast. You’re making your legendary pancakes.”

“I am?”

“Hey, if you didn’t want to cook for your family, you shouldn’t have gone into a career in the culinary arts.”

His lips brushed the side of her neck. “Well if I’d known I was going to be used and abused for my only talent on a near constant basis, maybe I would’ve considered a different path.”

“Like what? Stockbroker?”

“Hey, now.” His mouth was right behind her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Think how rich we could be if I’d pursued that track.”

Joey leaned back against his solid chest. “Or, given your propensity for putting all your proverbial eggs in one basket, we could be living in boxes on the street.”

“Ouch.” Pacey winced, pretending to be hurt. They both knew that they were just playing, that she’d never fire a barb at him that she thought would really dig too deep. His arms tightened around her slender waist. “I’d live on the street with you, my darling, any day.”

“Always such a romantic, Pace.” She turned her head and kissed his bearded cheek, noticing the dark shadows under his half-lidded eyes. “You look exhausted.”

“I am.”

“Go to bed.” 

“Come with me.” 

Joey smiled and looked back at her painting. The sky wasn’t quite right. It needed more stars, she decided, and reached for her paintbrush again. “I’ll be right there.”

Pacey chuckled. “You know, I almost believed you that time.”

Joey swiped the brush at his face, leaving a smear of dark paint on the tip of his nose. Pacey laughed, then rubbed his nose against her cheek. 

“You’ve got paint on your face, Jo.”

“You’ll have even more if you keep that up,” she warned him, holding up her paintbrush. “Don’t think I’ll hesitate to recreate your Braveheart look.”

“Okay, warning accepted.” He straightened up, his arms falling away from her. As always, she felt instantly bereft. She and Pacey fit together like a jigsaw piece, slotting into one another’s arms without effort, as though that was where they were both meant to be. It had always been that way. From the first time he’d put his arm around her and drawn her in towards his side, she’d known that was where she belonged. He’d made her feel a lot of things in that moment, but the one she remembered most was that she’d finally felt safe.

“I really like that painting, by the way.”

“Thanks. And I am coming to bed. Just give me five more minutes.”

“Sure, Jo.” 

He kissed the top of her head before he left the room. Joey sat on her stool and looked at the painting. A small dock stretching out into moonlit creek under a blanket of stars. On the end of the dock sat two figures, their legs dangling over the water as they stared out across the reeds. His arm was around her waist, and her head leaned against his shoulder.

_Come here, Potter._

It was the moment where everything between them had started, and she wouldn’t go back and change it for the world.

Joey woke the next morning to a sliver of light breaking through the curtains. She lay still for a while, allowing her eyes to slowly open and adjust to the pale light. She turned her head and looked at Pacey, lying next to her in bed, still fast asleep. His eyes were tightly closed, the side of his face buried against the pillow in an attempt to block out the light, even in his slumber. His slow, deep breaths almost lulled her back to sleep herself, but a quick glance at the alarm clock let her know that there was no time for sleeping in. Not at this time of the year. 

Joey rolled onto her back and ran her fingertips down his cheek, over his short beard. “Pace. Wake up.”

He groaned softly. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, the words unintelligible to anyone but her. 

“No, now. We have to get up.” She leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. His mouth moved under hers, his lips parting, his tongue gently seeking out her own. 

Pacey sighed and enfolded her into his arms. His leg slid over top of hers, pulling her in closer until their thighs and hips were pressed together. His hand caressed her lower back, sending tingles up and down her spine. Even after all these years, and all the many times and ways they’d done this, he still made her feel alive.

But they didn’t have time for this. 

“Pacey.”

“You wanted me up,” he teased, making her laugh. 

“Not what I meant.”

“But it’s what you want.”

Joey reached up to run her fingers through his hair as he kissed her, his mouth claiming hers as his own.

“Mmm. You know me too well.”

Behind her, the alarm beeped. Pacey groaned, closing his eyes, whispering against her lips. 

“Ignore it.”

“I can’t. It’ll wake someone up.” 

She pulled away and rolled over to silence the alarm. Pacey shifted onto his back with a heavy sigh. 

“You know, you’re a hard woman to love sometimes.”

She slapped him playfully on the chest. “Watch it, Witter.”

He chuckled, another sound that she loved. Joey propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him. When they’d gotten married, Joey had spent the entire morning in a state of near panic, wondering what on earth she’d done. All those years, all that work she’d put in, only to end up in Capeside, marrying her high school sweetheart. And pregnant, to boot...

_She looked at Bessie’s face across the dressing room and wondered aloud what the hell she was doing._

_“Marrying the man you love, who loves you just as much,” her sister calmly told her. “Joey, trust me. Getting married is not the end of the world. It’s the start of a whole new world.”_

_“But I…”_

_“But you, what? Never intended to end up here? Neither did I. None of us get to live the lives we dreamed up for ourselves when we were fifteen. Real life always has a way of stepping in and changing our plans.”_

_Joey bit her lip, uncertain. She knew Bessie was trying to be comforting, but she was wrong. There was one person in Joey’s life who was living the exact life he’d dreamed up for himself when he was fifteen._

_“Dawson,” she said aloud._

_Bessie flinched. “What about him?”_

_“He--”_

_“Don’t say it,” Jack interjected from the other side of the room, where he was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting his cravat._

_“Say what?”_

_“That all of his dreams came true.”_

_“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? He’s got money, success, fame. A movie contract with Spielberg’s production company. What exactly is it that Dawson has failed at?”_

_Jack looked her dead in the eye. “He doesn’t have you.”_

_Bessie muttered something about bringing this up now as Joey looked at Jack. She thought of Dawson, who she knew was out there in the garden, waiting with the rest of the guests for her to arrive. Waiting to watch as she dedicated her life to someone else. A small part of her, deep down, still felt as though she was betraying him by doing this. For so long, her heart had belonged to him, and him alone. Nobody else had come close to making her feel like she belonged in this world as much as Dawson had. Not for years. Not until Pacey had metamorphosed from an annoying loser to the person she relied on the most. And then he’d kissed her, out on the side of the road, and she’d felt something that she’d never felt before. Not with Dawson, not with Jack, not with anyone. Every time he touched her was like electricity. Every time he looked at her, her breath caught in her throat, and the words jumbled in her brain. Even then, it had felt like a betrayal. She’d told herself for so long that she belonged with Dawson, that he was her soulmate. She’d been in love with him for years, and had been waiting for him to catch up to how she felt. But when he had, it hadn’t worked. The sparks just hadn’t been there. They’d expected too much of each other, far more than either of them could ever live up to, and when she’d kissed him...she felt nothing. She kept going, kept trying to make it work. Told herself that it was her fault, that her own naivety and fears were making it awkward. Then Jack had kissed her, and she’d let him do it, that first time, because she had to know. Was it really her, was she the one doing something wrong? Jack’s kisses were different from Dawson’s, softer, more tentative. She’d felt more in control around him, as though the ball was in her court, that she could take the lead. When he’d come out, she’d gone back to Dawson. Back to the safety net that he represented, and she’d tried again. She’d tried and tried, had convinced herself that songs about romance were hyperbolic, that love that didn’t rely on lust was more pure, more romantic, more likely to last. It wasn’t until months later, when Pacey had come along and had kissed her as if his life depended on it, that she’d finally felt it. Everything that movies and television and books and love songs had told her she would feel, suddenly burst into vibrant existence. She had tried to tell herself that wasn’t real either, that it was just lust, not a true connection like she had with Dawson. But she’d been lying to herself, and that summer on the True Love had more than proven that to be true._

_She’d loved Pacey for years, loved him with everything she had, loved him so much it made her stomach clench and her heart flutter and her toes curl up at the thought of his bright blue eyes and warm smile, the touch of his hands against her skin, the feel of his lips against hers. The way he felt over her, inside her, the way he loved her with such tenderness and such passion. The way she trusted him so implicitly to take care of her, to be there for her, to keep her safe. There was love, and then there was true love, and she was lucky enough to have found it._

_As she met Jack’s eyes, her hands moved unconsciously to her stomach, cradling the smallest of baby bumps that was already visible beneath the pale sheath dress. Her children. Hers and Pacey’s. Binding them together forever, and suddenly that didn’t seem like such a scary thought._

_“Nobody gets exactly what they planned, or hoped for,” Jack told her. “The real question isn’t what you thought you’d have. It’s what you_ want _.” He crouched down in front of her chair, and she looked into his gentle blue eyes. “So do you know what you want?”_

_“Pacey.” Joey spoke without hesitation. “I want Pacey.”_

_Dawson was part of her past, an integral part of a troubled childhood that was fading fast as she prepared herself for imminent motherhood. Her future was with the man she loved, had loved for years, even when he’d broken her heart, who’d kept loving her even after she’d shattered his. Who’d challenged her and encouraged her and believed in her, who’d pushed her to be the truest, bravest, strongest version of herself. Who would pick her up when she was down, would hold her tight when she needed comfort, would propel her forward when she needed momentum, would be there for her, day in and day out, as long as they both should live._

Joey rolled over on top of him, letting her hair fall down into a curtain around his face, hiding them both in a secret space where only they could go. His hands cradled her hips, holding her steady against him, and he smiled as he gazed up at her face.

“What are you doing, woman?”

Her lips brushed featherlight against his. “Five more minutes, Pace.”


	4. This is all just make-believe

_This is all just make-believe._

Gretchen walked down Main Street, Max’s small hand clutched in hers, looking around curiously. The sea breeze put a chill in the air, but the sun was out, and slushy snow in the roadside gutters was slowly melting away. Main Street had changed, but not a lot. The video rental store was long gone, of course, the age of streaming video having made it obsolete, but so many other landmarks remained. The laundromat, the hair salon, the mini-mart. Her feet carried her toward the record store, a favourite haunt of hers growing up, but it was now a health food shop, selling diet powders and organic granola bars. _Love your dog? Feed him our natural organic pet treats!_ read a poster in the front window. Gretchen rolled her eyes.

She felt Max’s steps slow, and he tugged at her hand. “Mom, look at that!”

Gretchen turned her head, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw the mural. She’d seen it in photos, of course, but there was something special about being there, standing in front of it in real life. It was located on the side of a double storey building, behind what was now a nearby cafe’s outdoor seating area. Almost every inch of the wall was painted with scenes from various children’s books. There was Alice in Wonderland speaking to the Cheshire Cat, Sleeping Beauty lying prone with her prince leaning over her, ready to administer true love’s kiss, four young women in coats and bonnets, walking hand in hand. Huck Finn and Jim sailing down the Mississippi on a raft, Anne Shirley picking flowers in the woods, Wendy sewing Peter Pan’s shadow back on. Dorothy clicking her heels in ruby slippers, Lucy and Mr Tumnus walking hand in hand through the snowy woods, Harry Potter flying along the top of the wall on his broomstick, arm outstretched towards the golden snitch.

Gretchen and Max crossed the road and stood closer to the mural, taking it all in. A fox with a knapsack creeping through a vegetable patch. A bear made of burlap sailing across a starlit sea. A boy reaching up to pick an apple from a tree that leaned down toward him. An immense ship sailing into a distant thunderstorm as a mermaid hovered in the water, watching it leave. And down in the bottom left corner, easily missed by the casual observer, a small memento of another mural that had once adorned this same wall. 

Four words on a white background. 

_ASK ME TO STAY._

“Wow,” Gretchen breathed, her eyes darting from one image to the next, trying to place each one in literature. “That’s incredible.”

“Pretty cool, huh?” 

Gretchen turned to see a teenage girl walking up behind her, and broke into a broad smile. 

“Amy!” 

Amy’s thick blonde curls were trapped under a blue knit hat that set off her sparkling eyes to their best advantage. Her nose was pink and cheeks were flushed with the cold, and her full lips and round face recalled the depiction of Alice in Wonderland in the mural behind them. 

Gretchen let go of her son’s hand to wrap her arms around her niece. Well, step-niece. Technically, she was her ex-step-niece - if children could ever become ex- anything, which in Gretchen’s opinion, they could not. Family was family, always.

Amy hugged her back tightly. “It’s good to see you, Gretchen!” She released her, then grabbed Max in a hug too. “Hey, Maxie!” 

Her enthusiasm was so warm that even shy little Max smiled and hugged her back.

“I’m so happy that you came back for Christmas,” she said as she released him. “We’ve missed you guys. Where’s Kendra?”

“In the bookstore, with Effie. They’re giving Joey a hand stocking shelves.” 

“Oh, cool. I’m headed that way, too. I’ll walk with you.” She slung her arm around Max’s shoulders and they walked together towards the store, Amy pointing out characters on the mural and quizzing Max on the stories they came from. 

The front door of Moby Dickens had been painted bright red, making it stand out against the brick building. Vibrant window displays on either side contained a wide array of children’s books, some accompanied by props, their bright covers enticing passersby on the street. A sign hanging in the window caught Gretchen’s attention. _Story Time - today! 11 a.m. All welcome._

Gretchen smiled to herself as Amy flung the front door open wide and ushered Max inside. 

“ _‘And now,” cried Max, “let the wild rumpus start!’_ ”

Amy jumped to her feet as she turned the page, holding the picture book open to the group of children sitting on scattered cushions and beanbags at her feet. They stared up at her, somewhat bemused as Amy threw her hands into the air and danced a jig, whooping with excitement. 

“Come, join me!” she encouraged the children. 

Some of the smaller ones scrambled to their feet, but the older kids blushed and looked away, unwilling to make fools of themselves. Amy looked around for Max, for whom she’d particularly chosen this book, but he was hanging back at the edge of the crowd, and he looked terrified when her eyes settled on him. She decided not to traumatize the kid, and instead set the book down and held out her hands to a small blonde girl in the front row. 

“Will you dance with me?” she asked her, and the child, who was small enough not to be self-conscious yet, took her hands and got to her feet, bouncing along as Amy danced to the music inside her head.

Just as she was thinking that it might help if there was actual music, a staccato beat started up behind her. Amy turned her head to see Quinn standing in the archway that led into the neighbouring art gallery, the other half of the conjoined ground floor shop space. He was drumming his hands against the wooden frame with an amused smile. Grinning back at him, Amy spun the little girl in a circle, her feet dancing in time to Quinn’s steady beat. A few more children rose up, but it wasn’t until Quinn added a few whoops of his own that some of the parents finally joined in, some on their feet and dancing, others clapping along with the beat. Gretchen was clapping along, and Max was tapping his feet, looking as if he really wanted to get involved but was still too painfully shy to put himself out there. 

Quinn changed the rhythm, speeding it up to a faster tempo, and Amy lifted the little girl into her arms and danced them around in a circle. She could feel the eyes of every person in the bookstore watching her, and she revelled in their attention. A small town like Capeside presented limited opportunities for her to engage in her theatrical endeavours, so she had to take opportunities wherever they presented themselves. 

The thumping of the children’s feet against the wooden floorboards filled the entire store, bouncing off the walls that were filled with children’s books - glossy picture books, slim middle grade books with bright covers to catch the eye, young adult novels with poetic titles and angsty protagonists, graphic novels, classic novels, non-fiction titles, even a few plays in the section down the back corner. That was Amy’s personal favourite space to sit, reading through the plays, figuring out the stage directions and acting the stories out in her head, over and over, her plump lips that she considered her one beauty mouthing the words as she saw the scene in her head, pretending that she was auditioning for the big lead role in the next Hollywood mega-hit.

The children around her were fully in the spirit of the wild rumpus now, roaring and whooping and hollering as they pranced around the bookstore, arms above their heads, claws fully extended, every one of them as wild as the wild things in the story. The wild rumpus built to a crescendo as they gnashed their terrible teeth, rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws, and Amy set the little girl back down and picked the book up again, then beckoned Max toward her. Gretchen gave him a gentle shove, and he made his way through the rumpus to her side. Amy handed him the book and pointed to the next page, then gave him an encouraging nod. 

Right on cue, Quinn tipped his head back and let out an unearthly howl. The children’s footsteps slowed, their eyes widened, and they all stared at Quinn as the sound he’d made reverberated around the store. He stared right back at them, dark hair falling forward over his defined cheekbones, his Native American ancestry impossible for any of them to overlook.

 _“Now stop!”_ Max said, and the children sank slowly back into their seats, their eyes flickering from him to Quinn and back again. Amy gave Max a squeeze on the shoulder, and sat back down in her chair. 

_“Now stop!” Max said and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper’,”_ she read aloud as Max scuttled back to his mother. Quinn leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, and watched her as she continued. “ _And Max the king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.”_

A few more pages, and the story was finished. As Amy closed the picture book and set it into her lap, some of the parents clapped, and she got to her feet and took a bow. She gestured toward the doorway where Quinn had been standing, but he’d disappeared back into his mother’s gallery. The scattered applause died away far sooner than Amy would have liked, and the parents and children started moving away, talking amongst themselves. Many of the kids were still red-cheeked and breathless, and one of the mothers approached her with a smile. 

“That was brilliant! Samantha loved it. Do you sell that book in this store?”

Amy directed them toward the picture book section, and soon Joey was busy at the counter, ringing up orders for _Where the Wild Things Are._

“That was impressive.”

She turned her head to see Quinn standing next to her, his dark eyes flashing with amusement. 

“Thanks to you. I could never have got that wild rumpus started without your help.”

His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “You’d have managed somehow. But happy to oblige.” He tipped an imaginary hat to her, and she laughed. 

The butterflies swirling in her stomach multiplied, the way they always did when she was talking to Quinn. During a performance she could be cool, could fake indifference and make-believe that he was just another guy, another friend from her high school drama class. But face to face, one on one, her feelings for him couldn’t be denied. 

“What are you doing for Christmas?” she asked, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. 

He shrugged. “The usual. Tree. Stockings. Nog. You?”

“I’ll see you all of the above, and raise you ‘interminable family dinner’.”

“Ah. That old Christmas staple.”

“Yeah. It’s about as painful as trying to watch _Love Actually_ with my cousin, who just goes on feminist tirades against every single man in the film.”

“Well, to be fair to your cousin, that movie is an objectively terrible example of a romantic comedy.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea you were such a scholar of film.”

“We all have our dirty little secrets.” He winked at her, and the butterflies in Amy’s stomach started to do a polka. 

As she frantically tried to think of something witty and sharp to say in response, the cuckoo clock on the wall burst into loud obnoxious life, making her jump and let out an embarrassing shriek.

“Agh! That stupid clock. It gets me every time.” She shot it a filthy look, then her eyes widened as she realised what the time was. “Oh, crap. I’m late, I’m late.” She grabbed her coat and started to pull it on.

“For a very important date?” 

Amy grinned over her shoulder at Quinn as she headed for the door. “Something like that. See you round, Quinn. And have a great Christmas!”

Doug was already seated at his usual booth when Amy rushed through the doors of the Ice House. He had his phone on the table in front of him, but it was lying face down and he was pointedly ignoring it. 

“Sorry I’m late. I was doing story time at the bookstore, and our wild rumpus ran a little over time.” 

“That’s okay,” he said, although she knew he was annoyed at her tardiness. “I’ve ordered for you. Got you the salmon.” 

“Oh. Thanks.” Her mouth watered at the thought, but her inner rebel chafed at the notion that she was so predictable. Just to be contrary, she couldn’t help saying, “I was going to have the vege burger today.”

Doug frowned. “I can change the order, if you want.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“You’re sure? It’s no trouble.”

“Not for you, it’s not. Probably is for the chef, since they’re already super busy back there and if I know you at all, you’ve been here since at least ten of twelve, so the order probably went through…” She twisted her arm to check the Apple watch around her wrist. It had been a birthday gift from her grandmother, another attempt to allay her guilt at leaving her only grandchild to be raised by two public servants. “Twenty-five minutes ago,” she concluded. “Which means our food should arrive any moment now.”

No sooner had she spoken than their waitress appeared, bearing two plates of food, which she set down in front of them. “Salmon for Amy, and a large steak, medium rare, for you, Sheriff Witter. Enjoy your meals, and merry Christmas.”

“Thanks, Tessa.” Amy’s stomach rumbled as she looked at her meal, and she picked up her utensils eagerly.

Doug was scowling after the woman’s retreating figure. “It’s not Christmas yet.”

“Okay, Mr Grinch. It’s the eve of, and thus good cheer is spreading through the land. You might want to try it sometime.”

Doug sighed. “Sorry. I’ll try and be in a better mood.” He started to cut into his steak, peering at it suspiciously. “So, how’ve you been?”

“I’m fine.” Amy took a mouthful of salmon, which melted agreeably in her mouth. The food at the Ice House might not have fancy French names or expensive accompanying wines like the menu at Leery’s Fresh Fish, the other restaurant at the marina, but it was always beautifully cooked and full of flavour. “Mm, this is really good. How’s your dead cow?”

Doug shot her a look as he pressed his fork down against the steak and watched the bloody juices ooze out. The sight made Amy slightly nauseous, and she had to look away. She didn’t mind eating fish - it was a bit hard to live on Cape Cod and avoid consuming seafood - but she drew the line at red meat. Especially when it was still bleeding.

“It’s a bit overdone.”

“You sure? It looks like it’s still breathing to me.”

“It’s not pink right to the edge.” He pointed at it with his fork, and Amy grimaced. 

“Stop making me look at it, Doug. Let’s talk about something else. How’s work? Caught any hardened criminals lately?”

“Six last week.” Doug put a piece of steak in his mouth and slowly chewed, as Amy grinned at his dry humour. 

“Slacker.”

Tessa walked back past and glanced at them. “Everything okay with your food?”

Amy shot her a thumb’s up before Doug could tell her that the steak was overcooked. That was the last thing a waitress needed to hear on a Christmas Eve shift. Tessa nodded her understanding and made herself scarce before Doug swallowed. 

“It’s edible, at least,” he admitted grudgingly. “I’ll have a word to Pacey later about training his chefs properly.”

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear all about it.”

Doug darted her a look, but slowly started to smile. “If he’s serious about running a good restaurant, he should be.” He cut off another piece of steak and considered it. “So, how’s your dad?”

“You can say his name, you know. He’s not Voldemort.” Doug glared at her, and Amy relented. “Jack’s good. He’s at home right now, trimming the tree and hanging enough Christmas lights to make the place look like Santa’s grotto threw up on it.”

Doug winced. “He hasn’t put that hideous plastic reindeer in the front entrance again, has he?” 

“He tried, but I hid it in the woodshed. I don’t think he’s found it yet.” 

They grinned at each other for a moment before Doug’s smile faded. “Well, good. That’s good.”

“What about you? Please tell me you at least have a tree up in your apartment.”

“Not this year.”

“C’mon Doug,” Amy chastised him. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“Don’t start, Amy.”

“I don’t like seeing you so unhappy.”

Doug stabbed a fry with his fork. “Heartbreak will do that to a man.”

“Yeah, but it’s been almost three years since you and Dad broke up. You need to move on.”

“Who to? This small town isn’t exactly teeming with eligible bachelors.” 

“You could go somewhere else, you know.” 

Doug’s eyebrows shot up. “Leave Capeside?”

“I know it’s a bizarre concept, but there aren’t actually prison fences around this town,” she told him. “You can just get on the Mid-Cape Highway and keep driving until you find somewhere else you’d rather be.”

There was a long pause before he spoke again. “But you wouldn’t be there,” he said. “And I’m not leaving you behind. I know you don’t need me, you’ve got Jack and Pacey and Joey and...Tom.” He said the other man’s name like it physically pained him. “But I’d like to be here anyway. Just in case you do.”

Amy reached across the table and laid her hand over his. “Thanks, Doug. I appreciate it.” They smiled at each other until she pulled her hand back. “But you know, I’ll be leaving Capeside myself as soon as I graduate, and heading for the bright lights and big city.”

“You still planning to go to New York?”

“Desperately, avidly planning. You’ll be seeing me on Broadway soon, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Doug grinned at her, the first genuine smile she’d had from him all day. “And I can’t wait.”


	5. When you are young, they assume you know nothing

“Hey, Amy!”

She turned at the sound of his voice as she walked out of the Ice House, and waited for him to catch up. “What’s up, Eli?” 

One of his shoelaces had come undone, but there was no time to stop and fix it. He dodged the trailing lace, his gait awkward as he rushed to catch up to his cousin. 

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked breathlessly, skidding to a stop in front of her.

“Working. Why?”

“Damn.” His eyebrows drew together, and a deep crease formed above his nose. “Dad said we could play a live set at the Ice House tonight, but Lola’s parents decided to leave early to avoid the traffic getting off the Cape, so we don’t have a singer. Can you ask Mrs Leery if you can swap your shift?”

“Eli, it’s Christmas Eve. Nobody’s going to swap with me tonight.” She gave him a pitying look. “You could try Chloe. She might do it.” 

Eli nodded slowly, his entire body tensing up at the thought. Asking Amy for a favour was easy - she was practically his cousin, they’d grown up together, and there was nothing intimidating about her. But her best friend Chloe was a different story altogether. She was beautiful and confident and self-possessed, not to mention a Junior like Amy, not a lowly Freshman like himself. 

“You really think she’d do it?”

Amy shrugged. “She might. If you ask nicely.” She paused. “What are you singing?”

Eli’s upper lip curled. “Christmas carols. It was the only way I could get him to agree to it.”

“Well on the upside, she’ll already know all the words. You’ve just got to know your chords, and you’ll be a hit.”

“Do you...do you wanna ask her? It might sound better coming from you.”

Amy scoffed. “No it wouldn’t. You want a favour, ask her yourself. Don’t worry, E. She doesn’t bite.” 

Amy patted his head, even though she was shorter than him and had to reach up to do it, then turned and walked away. Eli watched her go, trying not to feel defeated.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see Maeve’s name onscreen. With a sigh, he swiped across to answer his girlfriend’s call. 

“Hey, Maeve.”

She wasted no time on pleasantries. “Did she say yes?”

“No.”

“But you did ask her, right?”

“Yes.”

“Dang. I guess that means we have to go to plan B.”

“Which is?”

“You, of course.”

“No.”

“Come on! You’ve got a great voice.”

“No way.” 

“Don’t be so shy! What could go wrong?”

“What could go wrong?” he asked, walking over to the railing outside the Ice House and leaning against it. “You do remember our sixth grade talent show, right?”

“Eli, that was years ago. It’s time to let it go. So you forgot the words to a song. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“On stage. In front of everyone.” The humiliation was still raw. He could still feel the panic, the shame, the stares of everyone in the audience as their eyes fixed on him, waiting to see if he’d find a way through it. He hadn’t. Couldn’t. He’d fled the stage, and sworn never to put himself out there like that again. He’d continued to play his guitar, but there was no way he was going to sing in front of people again. Ever. 

“And Melissa Cortez slipped and fell over during her dance routine, and sprained her ankle so badly she was in a soft cast for weeks,” Maeve reminded him, as if that was supposed to be encouraging. “At least you didn’t do  _ that _ .” 

Eli pressed his head into his hand, trying to repress the memories as she kept talking, because she never stopped talking.

“Stage fright is normal, E. But you can’t hide behind that excuse forever.”

“It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason,” he snapped. “And I do have another option.”

“Really? Who?”

He didn’t want to answer that. Maeve was kind of a snob about the ‘country clubbers’ as she called them, but it wasn’t Chloe’s fault that her family owned a ridiculously large mansion, or that her parents made a lot of money. Just like it wasn’t Maeve’s fault that her single dad was on the custodial staff at the high school. But on their first day, Maeve had overheard Chloe complaining in the school hallway about the janitor’s ‘sub-standard cleaning’, stating loudly that if anyone had done such a half-assed job of cleaning her parents’ house, they’d have been looking for employment after a single day. Never one to back down or let anyone talk shit about her father, Maeve had gone on the attack, and Eli had been forced to intervene before she landed herself in detention for the first two weeks of school. 

“You’ll see,” he said cryptically, then ended the call. 

There was no point winding Maeve up until he’d asked Chloe, and he still wasn’t sure he had the nerve to do that. But there was no-one else. No-one he could think of, at least. Unless...

Shoving his phone and his hands into the pockets of his winter jacket, Eli headed down Main Street towards the children’s bookstore. Capeside had always been a small town, but the divide between the haves and the have-nots had become starker over the years. Even the shops were clearly intended for one of two groups of people. The art galleries, the expensive gift shops, the boutique farmer’s market with its wicker shopping baskets and overpriced goods, catered to one side of town. The mini-mart, the run-down gaming arcade, the hardware store - these were the amenities designed for the people who lived in Capeside year-round. In the summer, the town swelled to twice, sometimes three times its usual size with the influx of tourists wanting to get away and spend summer on the Cape. In the winter, the town’s population shrunk as the weather got colder, although there were always some who thought Christmas on the Cape sounded like a romantic idea. Local vendors cashed in on that notion, selling bags of spiced nuts and steaming hot cocoa, adding 20% to the price of everything in their stores as they lured the tourists in with blinking lights and Christmas carols playing over tinny speakers out onto the street. 

Eli turned the corner towards the Rialto, then crossed the street to avoid the crowd of people who’d just been let out of the latest holiday movie. The cinema had been recently refurbished, and now had state of the art technology, surround sound, the whole nine yards. It was privately owned by Capeside’s film-making wunderkind, Dawson Leery. He’d been a cinephile his whole life, so they said, and had loved the Rialto as a teenager, so when it had been threatened with closure years ago, he’d bought it and kept the place going. He’d spruced it up to be one of the best equipped cinemas on the eastern seaboard, and the first week of its reopening had been nothing but free back to back screenings of his most popular films. But nothing was free now. As the cinema facilities had improved, so had the ticket prices increased, to the point where it cost almost twice as much for a movie ticket in Capeside as it did at the mall multiplex in the next town over.

Eli kept walking, past the fishing tackle store, closed at this time of year, past the Capeside cafe and the beauty salon, past that boutique clothing store that sold hand-spun alpaca shawls and hand-dyed silk scarves and other such garments. His footsteps slowed as he looked in through the front window at a soft grey cardigan. His mom had paused in this same spot, just last week, and he’d seen the longing look on her face. Eli had urged her to go inside and try the garment on, but she’d shaken her head with a tight-lipped smile. 

“No, no. I’ve got one just like it at home, you know. That’ll do for me.” 

She’d smiled at him, and kept walking. Eli had followed her, deep in thought. His mom did have a knitted grey cardigan, it was true, but hers was so old that it had probably been around since the time he and Effie were born. It had holes in the sleeves and was frayed at the cuffs and sagged shapelessly around her slim frame. She wore it around the house at this time of the year, but it was too scruffy for her to wear out in public. But if she had this cardigan, she could wear it out as much as she liked. Eli took a breath, and made a decision. 

The woman behind the counter looked up sharply as the bell over the door jangled to announce his entrance. 

“And what can I do for you, young man?” 

The shop was almost unbearably warm and smelled strongly of perfume. Several of the middle-aged women who were shopping in there turned to look at him curiously.

Eli shrugged deeper into his shabby Carhartt jacket, aware that he stood out like a sore thumb. He resisted the urge to bolt back outside into the cold open air, and summoned his nerve to speak up.

“Uh, that grey c-c-cardigan in the window.” He fought against his tongue’s natural inclination to stammer when faced with strangers. “H-h-how much is it?”

The saleswoman smiled pityingly, knowing before she spoke that he wouldn’t be able to afford it. “Two hundred and thirty five dollars.” 

_ Damn.  _ No wonder his mother had walked on by. “That’s...uh...th-that’s a lot.”

Her lips pursed at the perceived disagreement of her pricing. “It’s cashmere, you know. And it’s not a blend.”

“Uh, yeah. I know. I mean, I figured.” He wished he’d stop tripping over his words. He hated how nervous people like this made him, with the way they spoke like they were better than him, like he was some dumb townie who would never amount to much. Where was Effie when he needed her? She’d give this woman a piece of her mind. Then again, she’d never have set foot in this store in the first place. 

“Can I have a look at it?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“The cardigan. Can I have a look, up close.” He forced himself to meet her eyes, to stand his ground. “Please.”

The saleswoman sighed, but went to the window and unbuttoned the cardigan from the slim mannequin who wore it. She didn’t hand it over to Eli, but held it in her arms, as if he might sully it with his touch. He reached out and touched it anyway, feeling the soft wool snag slightly against the calluses on his hands that had come from spending hours yesterday cutting vegetables in the Ice House kitchen.

“It’s really soft.”

“Yes, it is.” The woman looked at him more closely. “Your mother owns the bookstore down the street, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen her stopping to look at this.” She ran her hand across the garment. “Always thought she might come in for it, but she never did.”

“She doesn’t like spending money on herself.” As soon as he said the words aloud, Eli knew he was going to buy the cardigan. Even if it had cost three hundred dollars, he’d have found a way. “I’ll take it.”

The saleswoman’s eyebrows disappeared into her short hair. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I am.” 

Looking dubious, she rang up the purchase, and Eli swiped his debit card, crossing his fingers that he’d have enough in his account to pay for it. If his dad had put through the advance he’d promised for the band to perform that evening, he’d be able to cover it, but if not…

“I’m sorry, but your card has been declined.” She didn’t sound sorry. 

Eli closed his eyes, wishing the floor would fall out from underneath him and swallow him whole. “Oh. I must not have been p-paid yet. Sorry.”

“Do you have another card you can try?”

“No.”  _ You know I don’t,  _ he wanted to snap at her. He wasn’t some trust funded country-clubber, set loose with Daddy’s credit card. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to waste your time.” 

Face burning, he grabbed his debit card back off the counter and spun around to leave, almost colliding with an older woman standing in line right behind him.

“Sorry,” he muttered for the third time in quick succession, before he recognised her. “Oh hi, Mrs Leery.”

“Hello, Eli.” Gale Leery smiled up at him. “Doing some last minute Christmas shopping?”

“Something like that.” 

The saleswoman picked up the cardigan and carried it back to the window. Gale’s eyes followed her across the store. 

“For your mom?”

“Yeah. Well, that was the plan, but turns out I can’t afford it, so…” 

He shrugged, wishing he hadn’t admitted that out loud. Mrs Leery was a wealthy woman who’d probably never had her card declined in her life. She lived in a big house right on the creek, and he’d grown up playing on her lawn and fishing off her dock. After she’d divorced her second husband, Ted, his dad had taken over helping out around her place, fixing a leaking faucet or a jammed window, replacing a rotten floorboard, keeping the yard tidy. He’d always taken Eli along with him, showing him how to do each task, and he never let Mrs Leery pay him for any of his work, insisting on it as recompense for welcoming him into her home over the years. 

Later, when Gale’s daughter Lily had moved away for college, Eli had taken over the yard chores himself. Raking leaves in the fall, mowing the lawn in the summer, digging a new garden bed in the spring, shovelling the front walk in the winter. He’d often found himself invited into the house after he’d finished, and they’d sit in the kitchen and eat cookies and drink sweet coffee, and Gale would reminisce about the things his parents had gotten up to when they were growing up with her son, Dawson. Those conversations always made him a little uncomfortable, since neither of his parents had spoken to Dawson in years. Aside from sending truckloads of money home and showering his mother and sister with elaborate gifts whenever Christmas or birthdays came up, his family didn’t see much of him either. 

Fame changed people, Eli supposed. It was hard for him to imagine spending years of your life away from your family. He’d grown up surrounded by his - his parents, his cousins, his aunt Bessie and uncle Bodie, his Grandma and, before he’d died, his Poppa. His mom’s father turned up on occasion too, usually looking for a handout before disappearing again, always leaving Aunt Bessie disappointed and his mom furious. 

Eli became awkwardly aware that they were holding up the line. “I should go.”

“Wait just a moment,” Gale said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. She pulled out her purse and flipped it open. “It would be a shame for your mom to miss out, and I still owe you some money for shovelling my walk yesterday.”

She pulled a wad of cash out and held it out to him. Eli gaped at her.

“You don’t need to--”

“Of course I do. You’ve been taking care of my yard for years, Eli. It’s about time I paid you what you’ve earned.”

“But--”

“I won’t take no for an answer.” She pressed the money into his hand. “You deserve it.” 

A slow smile crept over his face. “Thank you, Mrs Leery.”

“Is someone going to buy something, or are we just going to stand here all day?” demanded a woman standing further back in the line. 

Blushing furiously, Eli spun around. The saleswoman had just returned to the counter, the cardigan back on the mannequin in the window. 

“Sorry to bother you, but I will take it, after all.” He slapped the money down on the counter with a grin. 

The woman shot Gale a suspicious look, but went to fetch the cardigan. Eli waited as she rang it up - again - then folded it in tissue paper before sliding it into a bag. He thanked her, then turned back to the woman behind him in line. 

“Thanks again, Mrs Leery. She’s going to love this.”

“My pleasure,” she replied. “You know, you really do remind me so much of your father when he was your age.” 

Eli smiled weakly, pretending to believe her. His father was friendly, outgoing, gregarious, the kind of person that would strike up a friendship with a stranger in line at the supermarket. Unlike his shy, reserved son, Pacey had the gift of the gab and a silver tongue, and could talk anyone into pretty much anything. He loved the outdoors and working with his hands, spent his free time sailing and building boats, and thrived on being around other people. 

Sometimes, Eli thought they had nothing in common at all.

“You’re both so thoughtful. Joey is a lucky woman.” Gale’s smile flickered, as if it was an effort for her to keep it on her face. “But I’m sure she knows that.”

Eli shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah. I guess she does. Well, I should go. Thanks again, Mrs Leery, and Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Elijah.”


End file.
